


QWOP King

by RyMagnatar



Series: Highschool Kids [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Highschool age, Humanstuck, M/M, QWOP - Freeform, Ugly Sweaters, really ugly sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your boyfriend doesn't have the coordination to play a simple game, but at least he can make up for his computer inadequacies with his knitting ability.<br/>Sort of.<br/>Maybe.<br/>Well, Kanaya wouldn't say so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Play the Game Gamzee

“So, this motherfucker does what again?”

He’s insufferable. “C’mon you jutht preth thethe four buttonth GZ. It’th really fuckin thimple.” He gives you this look like a confused puppy, all big eyes and confusion. You notice that the paint around his eyes is uneven. Shit, how did that happen? “Dammit, come here you idiot.”

You gesture for his face and he leans closer to you in the chair. You can feel his warm hand slide over your knee and up to your thigh as you hold his cheeks in both hands. With your thumbs you smooth the paint into place until its even. His eyes close and he smiles, all peace and trust as you hold his face in your hands. Asshole, where does he get off on being so damn pretty and trusting?

“There. Now get your hand off my thigh and onto the keyboard you are going to beat thith game.”

He chuckles, deep and dangerous as his hand slides all the way up your inner thigh and  _squeezes_  before letting go. “Right motherfucker. Which keys again.”

You viciously ignore the blush and instruct, “Four keyth. Q, W, O and P, jutht like that. Now come on GZ, be the marathon runner!”

He laughs, leaning his shoulder against yours and invading your space with the ease that only he can accomplish and tries to play the game. The little runner flips onto his head again and you facepalm. He was hopeless.


	2. The Best Most Horrible Gift

“GZ, what ith thith.”

It’s… It’s horrible.

It is probably the most horrible thing you have ever had the misfortune to look at, and you are a 4channer. You almost don’t even want to touch it.

What kind of God would let such a thing come into existence without striking down the being who created it? Horrendous. A disaster.

You can’t take your eyes off of it. The jarring colors. The irregular patterns. Polka dots on one arm, weird triangles on the other. It’s green, gold, indigo and brick red with one bright red cuff and one blue one. It has a row of buttons up one arm for no goddamn reason at  _all_ it looks like. On the front it has, probably the most quality thing in the entire mess, a black running man with a crown on and a metal on his neck as he flies awkwardly through a green and brick red background.

Not only that but there are words written on the monstrosity. Over the black man’s head it says in gold lettering, in  _your_  quirk no less: “kiing of game2” and across the bottom, gold on green it says: “qwop ma2ter”. It’s terrible. It’s awful. It makes your eyes hurt just by looking at it.

“How did you even,” you can hardly speak. This is the most horrendous sweater you have ever seen in the creation of man. It makes whatever was left of your fashion sense curl up and die inside of you. You briefly think that this will probably kill KN three times over, at  _least_.

Finally able to tear your eyes away, you look up to GZ’s face, looming above the collar of the sweater (indigo, by the way, with your gemini symbol on one side, little stars on either side of it, my  _god_  that is some detail). His eyes are big, his smile bigger. He’s holding it up by the shoulders and says, “You like it motherfucker?”

You look back down to it and your fingers twitch. “I-“

“Well?” His eyebrows arch, and for a moment he looks like its the first time he’s even considered the idea you might not like it.

“Give it.” Making grabby hands at the sweater, you say more earnestly, “Give me the thweater. Thith ith perfection. I fucking love it, GZ.”

“Really?” He hands it over.

For the disgusting color of it all, the fabric is amazingly soft. You rub it against your cheek. Soft and warm and from the look of it made more for GZ’s size than your own. You pull it over your head and just like you expect it’s too long in the bottom and in the sleeves. You wiggle your fingertips out the end and then reach up. Grabbing the sides of his face, not even caring about the paint this time, you pull him down and kiss him. Pulling back, you say against his lips, “Thith ith the motht horrible thweater I’ve ever theen! How will I ever find one worthe than thith!”

He chuckles softly and you kiss him again. Perfect. Your boyfriend is perfect. Everyone else go home, GZ wins.

How goddamn lucky does that make you?


End file.
